I've been in band too long
by Victorie Evans
Summary: Have you ever felt like you live for band. Here are some stories to see if you've been in band too long. Some are true. For all of the band geeks, keep on playing.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: this is the list of all the band statements to see if you've been in band too long. The stories will be out of order.  
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** I found these on the internet. I don't really own the quirks and jokes. Just the stories based off of them. Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>You Know You've Been in Band too Long When<strong>

You start sleeping with your instrument.

You have to take out your dentures to play.

You can identify yourself in a band picture.

Your career is baby-sitting the director's kids.

The sole of your band shoe falls off during a parade.

The director starts to sing well.

You consider your drill charts a fashion accessory.

You can eat Chinese food with your drumsticks.

Someone hands you a piece of paper and the first thing you do with it is roll it up and put it in your pocket.

The choice is not regular or diet, but woodwind or brass.

You shake your head and your lips follow three seconds later.

You know everyone else's part.

Dinner conversation is focused around new music or drill charts.

You start listening to band music all day.

Being mauled by a drum is a normal part of life.

The saxes sound like they're improving.

The flutes are in tune.

You can play up to tempo on YOUR instrument.

You walk with a roll step.

People worry when they see you without your instrument.

You start using band jokes on people outside the band.

Your instrument begins to grow hair.

"Armed guard" means a girl with a pole instead of a man with a gun.

The worst four-letter word you can think of is B-A-N-D.

You know how many ceiling tiles there are from waiting for the trumpets to learn their parts.

You know how many sound panels there are from waiting for the drummers to GET their parts.

You pivot on every corner.

The band goes on a road trip and no buses break down.

Someone says "block" and you immediately drop whatever you are doing and go running off somewhere.

You beg the director for extra early morning rehearsals.

You can dress in 15 seconds.

Back marching no longer reminds you of ballet.

Instead of political campaigns or soap operas, you follow section intrigue.

You can sing your part to a show more than three years old.

You start criticizing the bands on televised parades.

The flutes are in tune.

You wear your uniform to any concert even though you are not in it.

Your band shoes no longer hurt.

You try to teach your three-month-old sister to play the flute.

You feel homicidal towards a rookie who says, "Oh, goodie! Another parade!"

You name your kids Mark and Time.

Your teachers excuse your mistakes with, "It's all right, the poor thing's in band."

The band is in step.

Drummers respect percussionists.

You call your wife/husband to say you'll be late because of band practice.

Marking time is your favorite form of exercise.

Your instrument/hat/uniform has a name and personality all its own.

Anything on this list makes sense.

Cold hot dogs, warm Coke and stale popcorn are gourmet meals.

You consider being a band director.

The flutes are in tune.

You are going around a corner with a group of friends and you think, "Don't swing out!"

Numbers past 8 don't matter.

You hope the football team loses so you won't have to go to the playoffs.

Duct tape is an essential part of your instrument/uniform.

You can make brown shoes look white.

A line that's supposed to be straight is straight. (rather than beautifully curved)

You can sleep through drumline sectionals.

You have a neckstrap/drum harness tan line. (And don't consider it strange.)

Letters past G don't matter.

The sideline and the band are in tune.

There's a straight diagonal anywhere on the field.

You subconsciously start practicing fingerings on a pencil.

You consider moving into the band room.

You roll-step to avoid spilling food.

You sing drum cadences while walking to class.

Everyone but you knows what happened on your date.

All your friends make band jokes.

Slides no longer make your back ache.

You come home from rehearsal and your mother/roommate says, "You look familiar."

Your pants fall off and you keep going like nothing happened.

Everyone wants to kill the other football team... and you want to kill the other band.

You accidentally call the director "Dad".

You show up fifteen minutes early for everything.

You hear music and you start marking time.

You actually CAN sight-read.

You walk behind someone and are in step with them.

A bus seat is as comfortable as your bed.

You've dated every member of the opposite sex in the band.

You've had a trombone-related head injury.

Your buses are named. (ie "Command Central, Drum Bus, Tuba Bus, Shako Bus, Rude Bus, Library Bus, Tweetle Bus, G Bus...)

The drumline can read music.

The worst torture implements you can think of are trumpets and piccolos.

There's a stand in the bandroom that ISN'T broken.

You regard tuba players as a separate species.

You point out key changes and dynamics on the radio.

People ask you about your social life and you say, "You mean my flute/trumpet/tuba/drum/etc.?"

You can guide off reflections in your bell.

You think your plume is alive. ("The chicken is attacking me! AAAAHHH!")

You've ever been able to hear a soloist.

You can count by eight as easily as by ten.

You can remember your music in the middle of an exam, but can't remember what class you're in.

The trumpets make it through a show without ad-libbing.

The sideline and the band agree on the tempo.

You actually have all of pregame memorized.

Reeds taste good.

You start coming up with new words to fight songs, both your own and other people's.

The buses leave on time.

The pit gets their equipment on the field or put away in less than half an hour.

The director's jokes are funny.

Trombones realize there's more to dynamics than ON and OFF.

The buses get home on time.

You give a drummer four steps of clearance even when he's not carrying his drum.

You start adding stuff to this list.


	2. Chapter 2

Dear faithful readers:

I have delete this story because someone pointed out that they went against some rules... I will get back to this later, with small stories behind each band joke I wrote on this. thank you for being faithful to me. I will post a new chapter for this soon.

Sincerely,

Victorie Evans

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><p><strong> You can identify yourself in a band picture.<strong>

I walked into the house carrying my book bag, with my two younger sisters trailing behind. I snatched open the front door and raced upstairs, to find my older brother and my mother sitting on the couch, looking over a book.

It wasn't just any book, it was my brother's first high school yearbook. It's name only appropriate, for this was his first year. I was only a year younger, but I practically lived in the band room over at Daniel Boone High School. I had the privilege to be one of the few proud eighth graders to be accepted into the high school marching band.

I strolled over to the couch part of my family occupied. They were looking at the organizations, like ROTC and football and, of course, marching band.

"Can I look?" I ask, curious to see what picture they used for the band.

"No," my brother, Alex, grunted, flipping the pages slowly as my mother fussed over every single person, trying to ask if he or she was nice enough for my brother or myself.

"Is he a nice boy?" Mom asks, pointing to an average looking guy on one of the many pages.

"He's okay..." my brother mumbled, trying to look for some specific picture.

"No mom," I scold.

"No what?"

"I do not plan on dating any guys soon, I am a happy, _single_, girl," I announced, not wanting to talk about my secret ex-boyfriend, who dumped me a month ago. I didn't care, I got over it.

My mother huffed, letting Alex flip the a bit faster. Suddenly one page caught my eye. I put my hand on the page, staring intently at it. It was the picture of all of the band at our first competition of the year.

"Hey! There I am!" I yelled, pointing at the band student holding a clarinet in front of their face. You couldn't tell one person from another by looking at their faces, only their instruments.

"Are you sure that that's you?" Mom asked, squinting at the person I was pointing at.

"Yeah."

I started pointing out all of the band members, putting names with instruments. All my brother and mom did was squint at each person, trying to figure out if one person was a boy or girl.

When I was done with the name-instrument pairing, my family gave me disbelieving looks. I felt like a big ol' band geek. And I was only thinking _'hey, I got into a yearbook, and I don't even go to the school yet.'_

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><p>AN: This, by the way happened last year, and is a true story. I hoped you enjoy. the rest of the chapters will be like this. sorry for taking the original down.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**You hope the football team loses so you won't have to go to the playoffs.(or go any further into Playoffs)**

We were at the first game of the playoffs. No one in the band wanted to be here. We had driven two hours, and we knew we had no chance against the rival team. The band knew our team sucked…and had wished they los tat least one more game so we wouldn't have wasted our time. Have I mention we didn't want to be there.

The only way to keep ourselves entertained during the breaks between stand cheers was gossiping, having 'who was the biggest nerd' contests, which yours truly won all rounds at, and amusing ourselves at admiring or making fun of football players. We literally had nothing to do.

Secretly the band waited in anticipation for the season to end quickly, so we all could heave bragging rights that for once, we were better than the football team. Our wish came true, when towards the end of the fourth quarter; our defense let the rival carrying the ball slip through. I jumped up and yelled for someone to tackle him, like the many fans next to us, but I really had my fingers crossed that he would run it to the end zone.

Someone must have heard my silent pleas and let him get a touchdown, ending the game. I cheered and quickly played the school's theme, as is tradition after all the games, packed up, and ran for the bus, sleeping soundly on the way home, for I didn't have to give up anymore Fridays until next season…


	4. Chapter 4

**You've had a trombone-related head injury…sort of…**

It was our first competition of the season. The sky was cloudy, and threatening to pour rain any minute. It had rained the previous night… and the field was not that well kept in the first place. Marching on the field was almost scary just thinking about it, but we managed to execute it nearly flawlessly. Marching on was not enough to prepare us for what was about to happen next.

Our opener was fairly slow; it gave us time to adjust in the mud before moving into some fast, upbeat jazz, our show theme. We were quickly done with the opener, now came the drum solo that lead us into _Birdland _(look it up. Amazing,) the drum solo was fast, as usual, but it was sped up a little more than usual. Not good for a trombone player and clarinet player trying to make a straight line… in the exact same line. I made it to my position behind a mellophone player, but not before I was hit in the head with a trombone! My hat almost flew off of my head. Thankfully the strap kept it in place… sorta. It was tilting slightly to my left side. By the time we march off the field, my hat had moved farther left and backwards.

Many bad things came out of that performance, someone lost their shoes, almost everyone fell or slipped, and the tempo was a tad out of whack. But it seems miracles do happen, because in a long time, our small town marching band came in first place over all. I had never felt more proud of being a band geek until then.


End file.
